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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623919">The Master and the Minion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666'>fraufi666</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Historical RPF, Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Politics, Bullying, Coercion, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Hazing, M/M, Manipulation, Politics, Young Malcolm Turnbull, Young Tony Abbott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:22:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving a Rhodes scholarship to Oxford University, Tony Abbott is pleased to spend some time in the nation of his birth. Even though the young conservative enjoys university life, as well as a Thatcher government, he struggles to fit in. An opportunity to join the Piers Gaveston Society comes his way. The Society, although very prestigious, involves a series of disconcerting and harrowing ordeals. How far is he willing to go in order to win a place in such a group?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tony Abbott/Malcolm Turnbull</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: This story is an AU. Although I have used real people and political figures this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was finally here. The long trip from Australia was well worth it, for London was a beautiful sight. Ever since he was young, Abbott had always wanted to visit this place. As he sat on the double decker bus, he could see the old buildings that lined the world-famous River Thames. The British were always so proud of their heritage, and it gave the young conservative some hope that tradition was still being preserved. Australia was nothing like this, and it made him feel disillusioned, until now.</p>
<p>That day when he received a Rhodes scholarship, he knew that his life was never going to be the same. Of course, the United Kingdom was not unfamiliar to him: he had been born there after all. But since the age of two, Sydney was the only place he knew. How miserable the hot weather and the ugly modern buildings made him! This was his true home: a place where he really belonged.</p>
<p>As he was thinking of how his life would have turned out, had he grown up in Britain, he was momentarily distracted by the glorious gothic cathedrals of the Palace of Westminster. Yes. This was where he wanted to be! His heart raced as he gazed upon the two houses of parliament: a place emanating with power and prestige. He thought of the imposing politician who stood there: Lady Margaret Thatcher, a Prime Minister who was feared by many. Nevertheless, it was the pesky left-wing media that made her appear so ruthless: He knew what she was really like, even though they had never been in the same room together. She was a woman of class, wit and elegance: someone he greatly admired and respected. Maggie was everything. As Abbott sat, thinking of the cold glare, red lips, framed by a helmet of hair, he almost missed his stop.</p>
<p>Immediately he stood up and went over to the bus driver. “E-excuse me sir,” He said nervously to the driver, trying to make his accent sound more refined and less of an Australian twang, “I would like to get to Oxford, please. How far away is it?”</p>
<p>The driver laughed at the young man’s naivety, his cockney accent immediately apparent. “Oh, you tourists are all the same. Not knowing anything about the Tube. Go to Westminster Station and catch the train through there.” He was shaking his head, still finding his question amusing, “Blimey, fancy catching a double decker to get to Oxford! What do you think we are, a special bus service for Rhode scholars like you?”</p>
<p>Abbott did not want to argue with the man, “Sorry sir.” He muttered in shame, and quickly walked out of the bus. Fortunately it did not take very long for him to find the station, and then he was off, on the way to Oxford.</p>
<p>The trip took an incredibly long time. Abbott fortunately had packed a few books to read. He brushed up on some Edmund Burke. He enjoyed the book so much, that the journey no longer felt so dreary. Nobody sat beside him on the train, allowing him the peace and quiet he needed. He admired that about the British: always keeping to themselves.</p>
<p>By the time he arrived at Oxford, he went straight to the information centre. He was provided with information on where his room was to be, a timetable, and a very long book list. He was prepared to start purchasing the books as soon as he could.</p>
<p>“What?! Philosophy?!” A voice scoffed in disgust. Abbott turned around, immediately recognising another Australian accent. He saw a short, pudgy young man, dressed in a blazer arguing with another receptionist. “I enrolled to study <em>law</em>, not all this crap about Plato and Diogenes!”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry sir, but the undergraduate program recommends some electives with the arts.” The receptionist responded politely, her accent refined and polished. Abbott could not help but to look on.</p>
<p>“When I become a lawyer, I will make sure I sue this entire university!” He shot back, pointing a finger at her. “Mark my words.” The man grabbed the stack of papers from the table and began to storm off.</p>
<p>“Um, hello.” Abbott called out, causing the irritated young man to turn around. He had dark brown hair and twinkling blue eyes. Now that he realised it, the man was probably only a few years older than him, “I couldn’t help but notice: are you a Rhodes scholar too?”</p>
<p>“Naturally,” The other man said, giving a smirk. It came as a surprise on how quick the man had changed his demeanor. He put out his hand, “Malcolm Turnbull. And you are?”</p>
<p>“Tony Abbott.” Abbott greeted, taking the other man’s hand. Turnbull gripped it so tightly, he winced in pain.</p>
<p>“That’s a bit of a limp handshake you’ve got there, Tones.” Turnbull chuckled, “You’re never going to be Prime Minister if you shake hands like that.” He finally let go, much to Abbott’s relief. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “So, I’m studying law. What are you going to be doing?”</p>
<p>“PPE.” Abbott replied,</p>
<p>“Come again?”</p>
<p>“Philosophy, Politics and Economics.” Abbott explained patiently.</p>
<p>Turnbull laughed, “Well, you really <em>do</em> need to work on your handshake then. See you round!” And with that, he walked away, still chuckling.</p>
<p>From that moment on, Abbott knew that he was going to detest this student.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Abbott had settled into his dormitory very quickly. He loved staying in the Queen’s College. For a monarchist, it was ideal. He was not used to having so much space to lounge around in and he did not even have to worry about annoying roommates. The meals at the dining hall were top-notch quality and he was beginning to feel at home. But making friends was going to be the real challenge. He did not know anyone, apart from that Australian he had bumped into earlier: but Turnbull did not come across as a very nice person. He decided to stay out of his way. Fortunately he did not see him around the Queen’s College, meaning that he was probably staying elsewhere, hopefully on the other side of campus. He tried not to think too much about it.</p>
<p>Towards the end of the day, Abbott went to purchase a few of his textbooks. The prices hurt his eyes as he looked at them, so he resorted to going to a local op shop to retrieve some editions. He would have to borrow the rest from the library, he quickly realised. Making haste, Abbott walked over to the Bodleian library, stunned by the imposing architecture. It was quite a beautiful place and he felt privileged being in such an old library.</p>
<p>It took a while before he worked out where the philosophy books were located. He walked over to the section where the author’s name would be, scanning the spines of each one as he passed, making sure he would not miss it. Finally, he reached the section where the book would be, but alas, he only found a gap. Someone else in his class had beat him to it. He decided he would just have to avoid drawing attention to himself in class so the lecturer would not ask him questions.</p>
<p>The next day, as bad luck would have it, philosophy was the first class of the day. He sat to the side of the room, keeping his head down so that the lecturer would not call on him.<br/><br/>“As this is the first class for the semester, I am not going to expect you to know all the answers just yet.” The lecturer said, a thin, wiry man with thick spectacles. He introduced himself as Mr Lester. He scribbled something on the blackboard.</p>
<p> <em>Democracy</em>.</p>
<p>“Democracy is the cornerstone to the governance of many of our institutions. It had its roots in Ancient Athens. Socrates was the first philosopher who began to question democracy. He stated-“</p>
<p>“Beg your pardon.” Interrupted a familiar voice. The whole class turned their attention to the chubby dark-haired young man at the back of the room. Turnbull. “I believe it was actually Cleisthenes.” The way he chewed the letter R in his sentences was distinct. Abbott had never heard anything like that before.</p>
<p>“I-I’m well aware of that.” Lester said quickly, flustered by the student’s arrogance. Abbott felt sorry for him, “But given the length of this course, we will start with the more familiar philosophers of Western thought. Going back to Socrates-“</p>
<p>“Yes, but then it’s misleading to the students if you’re only teaching one part of philosophical origins without actually telling us the actual source. Cleisthenes was in charge of reforming the constitution of Ancient Athens back in 508 BC.” Turnbull continued, his voice full of confidence. The students look on at him in awe. Abbott quickly learnt from some students in the college later that nobody ever spoke back to Mr Lester. It was a remarkable feat.</p>
<p>“And I suppose you are a student of the Arts? Or PPE?” Lester responded. It was unclear whether he was being complimentary or condescending, “You seem to be very familiar with Ancient Greek philosophy.”</p>
<p>“Oh no.” Turnbull replied with a smile, one that would haunt Abbott for the rest of his life, “I am studying law. This is <em>merely </em>an elective for me.”</p>
<p>Lester’s bottom lip quivered and he quickly turned back to the blackboard, as if afraid of the students to see his embarrassment. “R-right. Let’s get started on Socrates, shall we?” He said feebly. Turnbull smirked, pleased at the lecturer’s reaction. He turned to look at Abbott, flashing a grin at him. Abbott gulped. If anything, this seemed more like a threat, masked as friendliness. Turnbull drummed his fingers against the cover of a book, still smiling. At first, Abbott was unsure why he was doing so, but as he looked down at the fingers, he spotted the cover of not one, but <em>two</em> copies of the textbook he was searching for.</p>
<p><em>That bastard!</em> Abbott thought in anger, realising that the law student had deliberately taken the book from the library so he could not use it. He tried to remain calm, turning away from the grin as he focussed on the lecturer. The only way around this was to talk to Turnbull after class. Hopefully by then, he would be kind enough to let him use it.</p>
<p>As soon as class was over, Abbott quickly followed Turnbull out of the room. “Malcolm.” He called out.</p>
<p>Turnbull turned around, smirking at the young man, “Yes, Tony? What can I do for you?” His tone was patronising, even though his eyes appeared friendly.</p>
<p>“If you don’t mind, I would like to borrow that library book from you.” Abbott explained.</p>
<p>To his delight, the law student reached into his bag and pulled out the textbook. “Is this the one?” He asked.</p>
<p>Abbott anxiously nodded and went to reach for it, but Turnbull lifted it in the air, out of his grasp, laughing. “Oh Tones. You have so much to learn.” He replied mockingly. And with that, he walked off with a group of other young men who were chuckling at Abbott’s confused expression.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rest of the day was exhausting and Abbott was grateful to head back to his dormitory to begin his assignments. University seemed to be more intensive over in Britain than it ever did in Australia. He hunched over his books, his script book open and ready to take notes, the page illuminated by the single light of a desk lamp. He just needed to keep his head down, study and then leave once he got his degree. Something about that Turnbull student set him on edge and he did not want to see him again.</p><p>But as fate would have it, he felt a draught come into the room. He turned around suddenly, seeing Turnbull walk into his dormitory, closing the door behind him.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Abbott asked, shocked at the intrusion.</p><p>“Well that’s not very nice now, is it?” Turnbull replied, walking towards him. “I came to give you something. No good for you to be studying if you don’t have the textbook.”</p><p>“Alright. Just please put it on the desk and go.”</p><p>Turnbull went to place the textbook on the table. Abbott reached for it, but the other man slammed a palm on his hand, making it unable for him to retrieve it. “Not so fast, Tones. In life we don’t get things for free. You should know this as a student who is studying economics.”</p><p>“What do you want, Malcolm?” Abbott asked, quickly getting frustrated by this man’s games. “I just want to study and be left in peace.”</p><p>In response, the older student reached into his pocket and retrieved what looked to be a dried, raw onion.* He handed it to Abbott, who looked at the vegetable in confusion. Under the light of the study lamp, he thought he was seeing things. “I want you to eat this.”</p><p>Abbott took the onion from him, inspecting it gingerly. He hesitated, delicately taking the skin off the top, before looking back at the textbook at the table. Given that semester was starting and it was the only copy in the library, he had to have it. There was no telling when it would appear in the op shop. He brought the skin to his thin lips, which quivered slightly before he put it into his mouth. He chewed quickly and swallowed, not wanting to deal with the pungent taste.</p><p>“The skin doesn’t count, Tones.” Turnbull responded cruelly. “I want you to eat the whole thing.” His hand rested on the textbook, “Or you are not getting this.”</p><p>He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pungent aroma of the onion before taking the first bite. He bit into it, trying to trick his mind into thinking he was eating an apple, but the stench was overpowering. He felt his mouth burn as he chewed the first bite. As he opened his eyes to see how much he had eaten so far, he felt his eyes sting as tears trickled down his face.</p><p>The law student laughed as he watched on. “Don’t cry, Tones.” He chided in mock comfort. It was clear that he was enjoying his rival suffer. “It will all be over soon.”</p><p>Abbott tried to ignore the Cheshire cat grin as he bit into the onion a second time, this time chewing the bite as quickly as possible, swallowing that awful taste. His entire mouth felt sore and he desperately needed a glass of water. But he could not give up, or he could risk failing philosophy class. He continued to take another bite and another, eating the onion as fast as he possibly could, tears continuing to stream down his face. If anyone else was watching the scene, it was a very sorry sight. Never, in a million years did Abbott think winning a scholarship would involve him eating a raw onion in his dormitory in order to get a textbook he needed.</p><p>After he had finally finished the onion, Turnbull had thrust the textbook into his lap. Abbott jolted at its weight. But now he was much too affected by the onion to continue studying.<br/><br/>“Well done, Tony.” Turnbull said, clapping him on the shoulder. “See? I knew you could do it. With the stamina you have, you would fit right in the Piers Gaveston Society.”</p><p>Abbott was not sure whether he was just hearing things. “Piers Gaveston? The dining club? Isn’t that just for exclusive members?” He queried, just to further clarify. At this point in time, he was not sure if he should believe anything Turnbull was saying.</p><p>“You know it.” The law student replied promptly. “Our meetings are every Tuesday evening at nine ‘o clock sharp. Come to the Brasenose College. Don’t be late.”</p><p>“Okay, I’ll think about it.” Abbott responded, still struggling with the aftertaste of the raw onion. As soon as Turnbull had left his dormitory, he tried to drown out the taste with several cups of water. Given all that had happened, he did not want to see another onion again. Or Turnbull. He decided it was best to give that man a wide berth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Weeks had passed and Abbott’s curiosity for the dining club only grew. Although he was focussed on his studies, and thanks to the textbook was able to catch up on philosophy, he wished he could be part of the real action.  It was still difficult to make friends and he felt that most of the students in his classes were too progressively minded to really get along with. Even in the country of his birth, Abbott felt like an outsider. While he had endeavoured to stay out of trouble and focus on getting his degree, he could not spend three or so years in this sort of isolation forever. He had to make friends.</p><p>Abbott found himself walking into the Brasenose College hall at nine ‘o clock. He saw a group of other young men around his age, sitting in a circle near the fireplace, all wearing a similar blazer to the one that Turnbull often wore. They all turned to face him in curiosity.</p><p>“Tony Abbott. So pleased you have finally decided to join us.” Turnbull responded, getting up from the chair. “Come, sit with us.”</p><p>Abbott walked over to the group, but there were no spare chairs. He looked at Turnbull in confusion.</p><p>“Apologies, I’m afraid you’ll have to <em>earn </em>your seat here.” One of the other men responded, seeing Abbott’s confusion. “I’m Avery. Winston Avery. The Vice President of the Piers Gaveston Society. I see you’ve already met our president.”</p><p>“I don’t understand-” Abbott began,</p><p>“Oh it’s quite alright, Tony.” Avery replied, patting him on the back, “Malcolm told me all about your courageous effort to eat the onion. To do something like that takes guts. As a result, we think you’ll be more than prepared for a series of hazing rituals we have in place. Do you like to swim, Tony?”</p><p>“Why, yes.” Abbott replied, recalling the days spent swimming at Bondi beach, “I’m a good swimmer.”</p><p>“Then you’ll have absolutely no problems then. The boys and I are going out to the canal for a nighttime swim. Care to join?”</p><p>“I don’t have my swimsuit with me.” Abbott admitted honestly,</p><p>“Oh no need to be shy. We’re all lads here. You don’t have anything we haven’t seen before. Or was Malcolm wrong in telling us that you have what it takes?” Avery asked. Abbott could feel all eyes on him, like vultures. One wrong word and he would be out, and he would endure many more lonely weeks, alone. Could he handle it? To turn down an opportunity to join an exclusive club, let alone a chance to make friends would be foolish. He knew that Maggie Thatcher would not quiver in the face of such a challenge.</p><p>“Okay, I’ll do it.” Abbott responded finally. The group of men cheered in triumph.</p><p>The group of young men piled into Avery’s car, making the trip up north. Malcolm sat at the front seat next to Avery, turning around every so often to look at Abbott. He tried to avoid his gaze, worried that the anxiety would be too obvious on his face. No matter what he did, he could not show fear. The group sang loudly to the Sex Pistols, which blasted at the highest volume as they drove along the highway. Abbott stared out of the window, watching the green fields roll by. Everything was so much lusher over in Britain than it ever was in Australia. He did not miss the dry landscape of New South Wales.</p><p>“We’re here boys!” Avery called out finally, as the car pulled to a stop. The group climbed out of the vehicle, excited for what was about to take place. They walked over to the canal, which was surrounded by so many trees and reeds. It did not look at all inviting. Thankfully it was too dark to see how dirty the water really was. But that was not enough to alleviate Abbott’s fears.</p><p>He felt a hand clap against his shoulder. It was Turnbull.</p><p>“Since you will be the newest recruit here, I suggest you go first.” He said, smirking.</p><p>Abbott turned to the others. Nobody objected.</p><p>“It’s only fair.” Avery agreed, “The president has a point. Go on. You’re not scared, are you?”</p><p>“No, not at all.” Abbott said quickly. He started to slowly unzip his windbreaker, which was a necessity in the chilly British climate. Once it was removed, he was made even more aware of the cold. He took off his jumper and then his shirt.</p><p>Turnbull was watching him expectantly, “The trousers too.”</p><p>He gingerly unbuttoned and then unzipped the trousers, his legs shivering once exposed to the freezing nighttime air. The group continued to wait patiently.</p><p>Finally, he had removed his underwear, covering up his genitals before the eyes of the club. Turnbull nodded in approval. But he knew that the approval would be stronger once he got into the water. He walked over to the canal, looking at the water in reluctance. Closing his eyes, he decided to count to three and make a leap.</p><p>
  <em>One, two, three. </em>
</p><p>The ice-cold water of the canal shocked his very senses. Abbott spluttered, having accidentally swallowed some of it as he dived in. He swam to the surface, still coughing. <em>This all better be worth it.</em> He thought in determination, expecting to see the group cheering on land.</p><p>But to his astonishment, there was no one there. From the distance, he heard the sound of a car driving away.</p><p>“Wait!” Abbott cried, climbing out of the canal. He fumbled for his clothes, but grabbed some of the reeds instead. To his horror, the group must have taken them away with them. He ran out onto the road, trying to chase after the car. But it was much too fast.</p><p>Abbott examined his surroundings, hoping to find something that would help him get back. But the ride from memory took well over an hour. There was no way he was going to get back to Oxford like this. Still shivering from the cold, he walked briskly down the lane, wondering why he was treated so cruelly. He should have known better than to have jumped into the canal while the others stood safely on land. Inwardly cursing to himself, he did not notice the small truck that pulled up beside him.</p><p>“Good god, what is the meaning of this?” A voice called out in shock. Abbott quickly tried to hide himself with his hand.</p><p>“I-I’m sorry sir.” Abbott apologised, his teeth chattering. In a way, his pride was shattered and he tried to dismiss the severity of his situation, so not to be pitied, “I-I’m a little lost.”</p><p>“A <em>little</em> lost, huh?” The driver shook his head, opening the door to the front seat. “Get in. You’ll catch your death out here. Why the devil are you so wet anyway? Did you go swimming in the canal?”</p><p>Gratefully, Abbott climbed into the car, which was nicely heated. Immediately, the driver removed his own coat, throwing it onto Abbott’s lap. “Do you mind telling me what happened, young man?” Abbott put the coat on, taking a good look at the driver. He seemed to be in his sixties, wearing a pair of old overalls that looked like they had not been washed for a number of days. It was possible he was a farmer. Normally, Abbott would wrinkle his nose at such a sight, but the farmer seemed to be a friendly sort.</p><p>“I went swimming in the canal with a group of friends. But they left me behind and took my clothes.”</p><p>“They don’t sound like friends to me.” The farmer responded, shaking his head. “You poor sod. I don’t know why young men act like this. Where are you headed?”</p><p>“Oxford University, sir.”</p><p>The farmer’s eyes widened as he started the engine, “Christ, that just makes it even worse.” He muttered to himself. Abbott felt a sense of relief as the truck made its way down the lane, appreciative of his luck in this point in time. He did not know what to say to the farmer, so stayed silent. The farmer did not seem to be bothered by silence in the slightest and was more focussed on the road anyway.</p><p>Finally, the farmer parked the car in front of the campus. “Will you be alright from here?” He asked.</p><p>“Yes, thank you.” He was about to remove the coat, but the farmer raised a hand in refusal.</p><p>“Keep it. You need it more than me, young man. Cheerio.” And with that, the kind farmer drove away.</p><p>Abbott made his way to the dorm, prepared to climb into bed after a long, hot shower. But when he came into the room, he noticed a pile of clothes folded neatly on his bed. His shoes were placed near the foot of the bed. He quickly realised upon a closer glance that they were the same clothes the group had stolen from the canal. An envelope sat on top.</p><p>Curious, Abbott picked up the envelope and opened it.<br/><br/><em>Dear Tony,</em></p><p>
  <em>If you are reading this, congratulations for making it back. You have succeeded in making it into the Society. The president was impressed by the strength and courage that you have displayed this evening. Take a hot shower, you deserve it. We’ll see you back in Brasenose College soon for further instructions. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Regards,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Piers Gaveston Society. </em>
</p><p>Abbott read the letter a second time, taken aback by what it had said. All of his efforts were not in vain after all, he realised. But even though he rejoiced at his achievement, nothing could prepare him for what was about to happen next.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even though he enjoyed his classes, Abbott was more excited about the next meeting with the Society. The day could not come fast enough. At last, he was walking into the hall of Brasenose College, appreciating the warmth of the crackling fireplace. This time, however, there were extra students there.</p><p>“Welcome.” Turnbull greeted, after seeing Abbott take a seat. “Now before we get started, you’ll be paired with a master.”</p><p>“A master? What does he mean?” A redhead man with a strong Irish accent asked Abbott. He recognised him from politics class. Abbott shrugged, unsure himself.</p><p>“You are all first years. Ill-experienced and unprepared for life’s challenges. As you go through the hazing rituals, we will help you build your strength. To do this, each one of you, a minion, will be paired with a master.”</p><p>“Do we get to choose?” Another first year asked.</p><p>Turnbull chuckled, “Certainly not. You are only minions after all. As president of the Society, <em>I </em>will choose who you will be paired up with. Timmins, you’ll be with Avery.”</p><p>The anxious redhead began to quiver. Avery’s smile seemed to fill the room. “Come now, Timmins. There’s no need to be scared.” The Vice President said, his grey eyes shining menacingly like daggers. “It’s a privilege to be a minion for someone high up in the Society.”</p><p>“Shaw,” Turnbull continued, “You’ll be paired with Hastings.”</p><p>Abbott waited patiently, hoping that if anything he would not be paired with his Australian rival. The pairing process seemed to take ages, and he checked his watch to see that only five minutes had passed.</p><p>“…And last but not least,” The law student said finally, looking directly at Abbott. He gulped, wondering why fate was so cruel. “Abbott, you will be paired with me. Welcome minion.”</p><p>At this very moment, there were two things he could do. Either, walk right out of the room and never have anything to do with the society again, or stay as he was told. He had no idea what extra plans they had for him, and given how anxious the first years looked as they were being paired with their respective masters, things would only get harder. A few voices began to fill his thoughts, encouraging him to continue.</p><p>
  <em>With the stamina you have, you would fit right in the Piers Gaveston Society.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We think you’ll be more than prepared for a series of hazing rituals we have in place.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re not scared, are you?</em>
</p><p>Abbott found his feet walk right towards Turnbull, who smiled in approval. All of the masters looked very cheerful to see their minions stand beside them.</p><p>“Now, there are a few rules.” The president began, watching each minion as he spoke, “One: You must never, ever tell any outsiders about this, or you will lose your place in the Society. Two: Any disobedience towards your master will lead to a series of strikes. On the third strike, you will lose your place in the society. Three: By joining the society, you will do anything and everything that your master tells you, as you are a minion and nothing more. If any one of you think you can disparage the name of Piers Gaveston, do not expect your university life to be smooth-sailing. Each master has a good rapport with the staff, and we will be able to influence you to lose marks if need be. With a consistently poor performance in class, you will be sure to lose your place at Oxford as well.” He turned to look at Abbott and stared at him the longest as he grinned wickedly, “You don’t want to get into trouble, so do as you’re told.”</p><p>Abbott felt his blood run cold. He did not dare say a word, nor to look at any of the other minions. Turnbull continued.</p><p>“Now, the way this system works is each one of you will be working closely with your assigned master. No corroborating with your fellow minions, or you will lose your place. These are all individual hazing rituals that the each master will each conduct in a way he sees fit. There is no schedule where or when these rituals will start, so you must be prepared to obey at all times, no exceptions.” He strode over to the mantelpiece, which sat a silver bell. He gave it a shake.</p><p>
  <em>Ting, ting</em>
</p><p>“As of now, hazing rituals have now started. Best of luck, gentlemen.”</p><p>Abbott looked at Turnbull in horror as he returned to his side. The law student merely smirked. “I have something for you in my room. Come with me.”</p><p>He hesitated. “What is it?” Abbott asked,</p><p>“You’ll see.” Turnbull replied, “Come on.”</p><p>Like an obedient dog, Abbott followed him up a flight of stairs and into one of the dormitories. On the bed, sat a neatly folded black and white outfit. Abbott looked at it in curiosity.</p><p>“Try it on.” Turnbull muttered, his hot breath against the minon’s neck, “I’ve sized you up when we first met, so it should fit like a glove.”</p><p>Awkwardly, Abbott went over to the outfit and unfolded it. To his shock, he quickly recognized it to be the black dress and white apron of a maid. A head piece also came with it, along with a pair of white silk stockings that went up to the knee.</p><p>“There’s no way you’re making me wear this.” Abbott replied in disbelief. Being raised as Roman Catholic, dressing like a woman would be seen as one of the biggest sins of all. “This is unnatural!”</p><p>Turnbull raised his eyebrows, “It doesn’t matter whether it is natural or unnatural. Nobody will know except for us. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”</p><p>“I’m not soft!” Abbott cried in defiance, insulted by such a suggestion. “God will punish me!”</p><p>The master laughed, “Oh please. You are not going to survive in this environment if you cling to your petty beliefs. If you can swim in the freezing canal, you can definitely dress as a darling little maid for me.” He leaned in close, “….Failing that, you don’t know what I’m capable of doing.” He clasped one of Abbott’s shoulders, his nails digging into it.</p><p>“Alright, alright!” Abbott gave in, looking at the dress in nervousness. “I’ll do it. But can you please turn around while I dress?”</p><p>Turnbull chuckled, “Oh please. We’ve already seen you naked before. There’s no need to act like a priest.” But even after he said this, he did not seem too interested to stare at Abbott as he got undressed. It was the end result that he was after.</p><p>After putting on the dress and the apron, he donned on the headpiece, awkwardly pulling on the silk stockings. The hairs of his legs seemed to stick out in such a ghastly way. All of this felt so wrong, but he could not give up now. His university grades would be at stake.</p><p>The law student gazed at him from head to toe. “My, my. You look even <em>better</em> than I imagined. Come closer to the light so I can see you better.”</p><p>Abbott shyly walked towards his master, who was standing right near the desk lamp. “Now that you’re dressed for working, I’ve got a job for you.”</p><p>He was about to roll his eyes but remembered he had to do what was asked and quickly stopped himself. Turnbull went over to the desk where he sat down at the chair, resting his feet on a footstool.</p><p>“As you are serving me, minion, I suggest you get straight to work by shining my shoes. The polish is in the cupboard. And be careful not to scratch them: they are R.M. Williams. If you do, be expected to pay for the damage.”</p><p>As soon as money was mentioned, Abbott quickly took out the polish and brush, terrified of having to pay for something he knew he could not afford. He had to do this right.</p><p>He knelt by his feet, slightly embarrassed in such a costume and then set to polish the shoes right away. Fortunately he did have experience in doing so, even though he never owned a pair of shoes as expensive as his master’s. Turnbull smiled, impressed by the other man’s industriousness.</p><p>“That’s a good maid. I do admire your efficiency. Think I made the right choice in choosing you.” Turnbull remarked warmly.</p><p>Abbott felt his cheeks burn as he said this. Why was it that such a compliment made him feel this way? No matter, he still had to get the job done and then go back to his room and work on his assignment. He could not shirk his duty now.</p><p>Once he had polished the other shoe, he was just about to stand up when he felt the man’s heel against his neck. He gasped, unable to move.</p><p>“Ah, ah. You polished the leather…Now you have to clean the soles.”</p><p>Abbott made a move to stand up, but the heel pressed against him harder.</p><p>“Why are you leaving?” Turnbull’s voice had a cruel edge to it, and the minion began to feel dread, “I gave you a request. I expect you to fulfill it.”</p><p>“You need to let me get up so I can get some water and a cloth.” Abbott attempted to explain, his voice strained, becoming all too aware of the greater pressure the other man’s shoe had against his neck.</p><p>Turnbull laughed, “You don’t need a water and cloth. You have a tongue, don’t you? I want you to <em>lick</em> my soles.”</p><p>The minion hesitated as the foot moved away from his neck and then edged closer to his face. Abbott leaned in, noticing a glob of week old chewing gum that stuck to the sole. He cringed and then closed his eyes, hoping that the taste would not be so bad if he did not know what he was tasting. Unfortunately, as his tongue made contact with the dirt of the sole, he knew exactly what he was tasting. He tried not to gag as he licked the chewing gum, which tasted much worse than he thought. Quickly, he tried to pull it off the sole so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.</p><p>“Tongue! Use your tongue.” Turnbull chided, moving the shoe closer to him. “Do it properly.”</p><p>Shuddering, Abbott had to eat the gum. He felt like vomiting when he swallowed the wad, dirt and all. He then proceeded to licking the sole of the other shoe. Once it was finally clean, he looked back at his master for approval.</p><p>“You forgot to do one more thing.” The older student said with a smile, “Show me you worship me.”</p><p>Worship?! He wanted to slap that man on the face. Abbott felt a mixture of shame and anger, as well as confusion for doing such a task. Heart racing, he leaned over to plant a kiss on each shoe in turn.</p><p>Turnbull stood up and went over to the crouching minion, taking hold of his chin and pulling his face up to look directly at him. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Abbott’s heart continued to ache as he stared into the cruel blue eyes that looked back at him. For a minute, he realised that his master was quite handsome in a snobby, spoilt rich boy kind of way. Turnbull ran a hand against the side of his quivering face.</p><p>“I thoroughly enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He asked, taking hold of one of his hands. Sneakily, he moved it towards his crotch. Abbott could feel the hard bulge of his master. The law student was not lying after all.</p><p>Upon seeing Abbott’s stunned expression, Turnbull placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “Don’t worry, Tones. Nobody will know about this. This is just two friends, having a bit of fun. You did well tonight, you’re free to leave.”</p><p>Abbott hesitated before finally changing back into his regular clothes and then making his way back to his dorm. His mind was racing with so many thoughts that he decided he could not study that night. He had to lie down. But even as he lay in bed, he could not stop thinking of the way those malicious blue eyes stared at him. He tossed and turned, trying to sleep but unable to get them out of his head. To his horror, he could feel himself grow hard as he thought back to the day’s events.</p><p><em>This is a sin!</em> He tried to tell himself, desperately trying to ignore his erection. But it was impossible. In the dark, he pleasured himself with a guilt-ridden mind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was haunted by the event, unable to think of anything but Turnbull. He hated how much his mind went back to him, no matter what task he was doing. Taking initiative, he decided to join the boxing club. It was going to be a very harrowing experience, but he was a quick learner and eager to do something to take his mind off that man. During his first class, he imagined the punching bag as the smirking law student’s face instead, and managed to land several hard punches.</p>
<p>The coach was impressed. “I have never seen so much fire in a student before. And you’re a Roman Catholic?”</p>
<p>“I just need a hobby.” Abbott lied, knowing that if he breathed a word of the Society, he could get into more trouble than necessary.</p>
<p>“You’re a mad monk if ever I saw one.” The coach replied. The nickname stuck and soon all his boxing partners were calling him that. After training, Abbott was on his way back to his room, where he almost walked into Turnbull, who was returning from class.</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t believe what has happened.” Turnbull said in disgust, looking unusually on edge for someone who was normally so calm. “That witch has objected to letting the boat people settle here. She’s such a dictator*.”</p>
<p>Abbott immediately knew who he was talking about and grew defensive, “Margaret Thatcher is the most successful prime minister that Britain has ever had.” He said, his raised voice surprising the law student, “And anyway, it’s good that she stopped the boats. <em>Someone </em>had to.”</p>
<p>“You’re so brainwashed by her.” Turnbull replied with a laugh, “But now that I think of it, she’s not so bad on the eyes. I think she’d be a good root.”</p>
<p>Shocked by the disgusting words, Abbott immediately landed a punch on the eye of the law student. Turnbull held his eye in pain before looking up to glare at the young conservative. For a moment, there was a cold anger in his eyes, but it cleared in an instant and Turnbull turned and walked away in the opposite direction.</p>
<p>Abbott smiled to himself as he watched his master quicken his pace, as if scared that he would experience another punch. Maybe the boxing club was finally paying off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A couple of hours later, he had emerged from the toilet to wash his hands. He noticed there was a group of men standing around at the basin, watching him closely.</p>
<p>He looked up at them, smiled nervously and then started to reach for the paper towel, until one of them grabbed hold of his shoulder.</p>
<p>“So, this is the Tory fucker Malcolm warned us about.” One of them said, giving a sly grin at the confused conservative.<br/><br/>“Gentlemen,” Abbott began, raising his hands, “I can explain.”</p>
<p>Yet they never gave him a chance. The group of men surrounded him, slamming punches all over his body, each one taking a turn, some even more than others. He fell to the floor, huddled in a foetal position, hoping that they would stop. But they did not. Slaps, punches and rough kicks continued, even as he begged them to stop. The ordeal seemed to last for an eternity.</p>
<p>He could not remember much else, until he woke a couple of hours later on the bathroom floor. His head was throbbing and as he tried to stand up, his legs shook. Slowly, he walked towards the mirror to assess the damage. It was a sorry sight. The side of his face was scratched, his eye black and his lip was busted, blood oozing from the lower lip. He groaned in pain, struggling to turn on the tap and then wash his face. His face looked horrific, and he barely recognised it from being so swollen. It would take a while for the injuries to heal and he hoped that he would not look like this for too much longer.</p>
<p>Limping, Abbott made his way back to his dormitory. His confidence from punching Turnbull had well and truly subsided. He knew that his master was behind all of this, but there was nothing he could do. Even though the punch he had given him was well-deserved, it also led to a lot more damage. He sighed, regretting ever punching the law student. From now on, he had to do as he was told, or else more damage would happen.</p>
<p>Oh how he loathed those students. They were most likely hardcore Labour voters, no doubt about it. He clutched his head, curling up onto the bed. Never had he experienced so much pain in his life. This was far worse than licking the shoes. He would have done anything to do that a second time.</p>
<p>Abbott stopped that thought. <em>Why would I want to do it a second time?</em> He wondered in worry.  <br/><br/>No sooner had he shut his eyes that he began to experience a series of strange sensations. He could hear the sound of dripping water and then feel a washcloth against his face, warm and soothing. Perhaps he was back at home and his mother was helping him and Oxford was all just a horrible dream.</p>
<p>But the voice he heard sounded nothing like her.</p>
<p>
  <em>I told you to do as you were told. You wouldn’t listen. </em>
</p>
<p>He felt a sting as something cold rested against his eyes. He could not see what was happening, but from what he was experiencing, he knew that someone was trying to help him. Curious, he reached up to take the compress off his eyes so he could open them, but his entire body felt exhausted and too weak. He had to rest.</p>
<p>A hand gently rested over his own and he felt comforted immediately. It felt somewhat familiar, but his head was still aching and was struggling to recognise where he had felt that feeling before. Whoever it was, he felt safe and comfortable with their presence. He thanked the lord for this comforting change in events.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He struggled getting up and going to class, but he pushed himself regardless. Abbott still could not work out who it was who tended to his bedside that night, but it did not matter. As soon as he was better, he would continue his boxing training and give that horrible law student what he deserved.</p>
<p>It was a very cold, miserable day when he came back to his dormitory to study. He did not want to be outside for much longer, and he was lucky to not see much of the law student these past few days. The last thing he needed was to be made into a slave in that dreadful maid’s outfit.</p>
<p>He stared at the photo of Margaret Thatcher that was pinned just above his desk. How did she cope in such a university environment? He wondered. She always seemed so invincible, a woman who never found a task too difficult. To know that even a woman was doing better than him was emasculating.</p>
<p>Suddenly, he heard the door open and then close firmly behind him. He turned around and began to groan and roll his eyes as soon as he saw who it was.</p>
<p>“What do you want, Malcolm?”</p>
<p>Turnbull gave a grin as he walked over to sit on the desk. “I just wanted to check up on a friend. That’s hardly a crime now, is it?”</p>
<p>Abbott could see right through his words. This was nothing more than another hazing task. Turnbull’s gaze moved towards the pinned photo of the Prime Minister.</p>
<p>“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows, taking a good look at it. “You really <em>are</em> a Thatcherite, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“What’s it to you? I thought you had an issue with that.” Abbott replied gruffly, still clearly hurt by the beat-up that occurred not long ago.</p>
<p>Turnbull chuckled, leaning back on the desk. It was odd how at home the law student seemed to make himself look, even on the most uncomfortable of surfaces. “As a friend, anything that makes you happy, makes me happy too.” His voice was sickly and too nice. Abbott was not sure he was being genuine, but he knew better than to argue back. Why was he saying all these things?</p>
<p>“I bet you do naughty things when you look at her photo, don’t you?” Turnbull asked, smiling all knowingly.</p>
<p>“N-no.” Abbott stammered, horrified that masturbation was being brought up as a topic. “It’s a sin!” Even when he did it, he did not want to admit it.</p>
<p>“Never?” Turnbull asked with a cheeky grin, his voice filled with disbelief, “Well then…there’s always a first time for everything.” His foot trailed against his minion’s thigh. Abbott’s heart pounded quickly.</p>
<p>“W-what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I want you to do it right here, right now.” Turnbull replied smoothly. “Or do you want me to do it for you?”</p>
<p>Abbott felt himself grow hard at the thought of Turnbull even suggesting that. He tried to ignore his erection. The last thing he wanted was for his master to see the effect his words were having on him. Quickly, he thought of the icy cold water of the canal as a way to force himself to shrink again, but the thought did nothing. Not while he was still staring at him, waiting.</p>
<p>The foot against his thigh began to move closer to his crotch.</p>
<p>“I’ll do it!” Abbott said quickly. Turnbull moved his foot away, satisfied. Gingerly, he reached for his fly, slowly undoing it. He freed his member and tried to hide it with his hand, hoping that Turnbull would not see it. From the corner of his eye, he could see a smile curve on the other man’s lips and blushed, focussing his attention to the photo. He felt slightly embarrassed, having not only the most powerful woman in the world watching him, but Turnbull also an audience member.</p>
<p><em>It’s just a photo</em>. He tried to tell himself. <em>This is a normal, healthy, heterosexual thing to do. </em></p>
<p>He moved his hand up and down, trying to avoid Turnbull’s gaze. But the other man’s presence only turned him on all the more. He groaned as he continued to pleasure himself, forcing himself to ignore him.</p>
<p>Turnbull got off the desk, and Abbott breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he was going to walk away. But to his horror, he stood behind him, his breath against his neck. “Harder…” He whispered in his ear, “I want you to go harder on yourself.”</p>
<p>He gritted his teeth as he continued, feeling the top of his lip perspire. The room felt unbearably hot, and it was hard to know whether it was the face of the Iron Lady that was making him reach his climax faster or the requests of his master right beside him. He closed his eyes, finally giving a final cry as he came into his hand.</p>
<p>Ashamed, he took hold of his handkerchief, wiping his hands of the mess, as if to hide evidence of a serious crime. A hand rested against his shoulder and he could feel the other man’s nose press against the side of his face.</p>
<p>“I knew you could do it.” In a slip second, he felt a light, yet tender kiss against his cheek.</p>
<p>Abbott sat in his chair, sticky and paralysed by what he had just experienced. He did not even flinch when he felt the lips make contact with his skin. Although he turned around to say something, his master had already walked out of the door, closing it softly behind him.</p>
<p><em>What did this mean? </em>He wondered to himself. There was no way he was falling for the man, he barely knew him. Turnbull was nothing but a troublemaker, a jester who was forcing him to do all kinds of cruel things to get into the Society. But, he felt a certain warmness sweep through him: he was obviously doing something right, if his master kissed him on the cheek.</p>
<p>Was it wrong to enjoy the affection of the person you hated?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even though he was feeling better physically with each passing day, his mind was troubled. He could not focus in class because all he thought about was Turnbull. The devious blue eyes continued to follow him, even when he was not in the room. Abbott noticed his marks were slowly slipping and a number of times he had arrived to class late due to sleeping in. Even his boxing skills were suffering as he missed a few times and got beaten out of hesitation. One time, he assumed that the opponent on the boxing ring was Turnbull himself, and he could not bring himself to punch him on the face. He left the ring, sweaty, aroused and frustrated.</p>
<p>It was all Turnbull’s fault that he was invading his dreams as well, causing him to stay in bed for longer to act out such fantasies on himself when awake. He could not handle it, but there was nothing he could do. He was his master, and leaving the Society would only lead to worse marks than he already had. He went to have a shower and then made his way back to the dormitory.</p>
<p>Abbott found an envelope waiting for him on his desk when he returned to his dormitory one afternoon. He opened it up.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Tony,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You have been cordially invited to the Piers Gaveston Ball tonight at seven-thirty sharp. Tonight is an exclusive event for only the privileged few. There is a strict dress code for the event that you must adhere to. The theme is Crufts. Meet your master at his dormitory at five ‘o clock for further instructions. Do not be late. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Regards,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The Piers Gaveston Society. </em>
</p>
<p>Abbott beamed. Never, had he ever been invited to something so posh in his life. The fact that the Piers Gaveston Society was hosting a ball could only mean one thing: an expensive suit and bow tie. Maybe there would also be beautiful women there. He would no longer be lonely. At the same time, it was not a priority. The fact that he could spend extra time with Turnbull filled him with hope.</p>
<p>But he had to hurry: it was already forty-five past four. He did not have anything expensive in his luggage, but had a decent tuxedo that he only wore for important events (not that he was invited to many). After he had put it on, taking a fair bit of time to do up his bow tie, he went to Turnbull’s dormitory. His master took one look at him and then burst into laughter.</p>
<p>“What’s so funny?” Abbott asked, insulted after taking so much time to make himself look presentable.</p>
<p>“You can’t go in like that. There’s a theme to the ball. But rest assured, I have you covered. Take a seat and have a drink.”</p>
<p>Baffled, Abbott sat down on a chair. Turnbull took a bottle of scotch from the cupboard, pouring two glasses for them. He handed one to him.</p>
<p>“You drink, don’t you?” Turnbull asked, sensing Abbott’s hesitation.</p>
<p>“Well, of course…” Abbott said, not wanting to appear like a spoilsport. “But wouldn’t it be indecent if we showed up drunk?”</p>
<p>Turnbull laughed, “Not at all. You need to get loosened up. Go on.” He leaned in, smiling kindly, causing the other to blush. He could not argue with him and in a matter of seconds, downed the drink obediently.</p>
<p>Ten glasses later, the room began to feel hazy. Abbott clutched the other man’s arm helplessly, as if a single plank of wood in a ferocious sea. Turnbull gently took him to what seemed like a small, narrow room and began to take off all his clothes.</p>
<p>“Hehe, what are you doing?” Abbott asked, his voice slurred. He was finding the whole affair funny. “I can’t possibly go in naked!”</p>
<p>His master smirked, “No, we can’t have that. But there is something better.” He gave him a small pair of underwear, made entirely out of leather. “Put this on.” He ordered. Abbott obeyed, although he felt uncomfortable at how tight the leather was. Turnbull also placed a headband on his head with pointy plastic dog-ears attached to it.</p>
<p>“Now for the final touch”</p>
<p>Abbott felt something tight clasp around his neck and he gasped. He could feel a series of blunt spikes around it. “Woof woof!” He barked, before bursting into laughter.</p>
<p>“That’s my lapdog.” Turnbull responded with a grin. Abbott loved seeing him smile. “Be a good dog and walk on all fours, okay?” The master attached a leash to the collar before putting a blindfold on his eyes. They walked to where the hall was; only they took a different way through it. Abbott did not realise how many corridors there were in the one building. He was continued to chuckle as they finally made their way to a dark, open space. He was not used to walking on all fours and his hands and knees were getting dusty. But it was at this point where Abbott realised with discomfort that he needed to urinate. But it was far too late.</p>
<p>“Ladies and gentlemen!” A voice called out from behind him. “Welcome to the Piers Gaveston Ball! Hope you all are having a jolly time. The theme for tonight, as you know is Cufts and so we’ve brought along our lovely doggies to show you all. They will be performing tricks that their masters have taught them. Give a hand for our minions!”</p>
<p>The curtains opened and the blindfold was removed at last, the bright light dazzling him. Abbott saw he was crouched on all fours with a line of other first years in a similar position. Some were completely naked, save for a tail and ears, whilst others were wearing leather underpants and suspenders. He noticed a couple of minions were wearing black muzzles, their eyes glazed over. It seemed like something out of a strange dream.</p>
<p>The audience ahead of them was large; although they appeared so blurred he could not tell what they were wearing. He could have sworn some of them were not wearing much at all.</p>
<p>“Malcolm…” Abbott slurred to his master, knowing he was unable to hold on for much longer, “I need to-”</p>
<p>“Shhh!” Turnbull silenced him, “You’re a dog. Dogs aren’t supposed to talk.” <br/><br/>In a split second, he felt something warm and wet run down his leg. He heard a gasp from the audience and to his faint horror, realised that he had relieved himself in front of everyone. He stood up, ashamed and making his way to leave, but Turnbull would not have it.</p>
<p>“You naughty boy!” His master called out, causing the audience to erupt in laughter. “Look at the mess you’ve made. Come here!” There was a stern edge to his voice, and Abbott knew that only mayhem would come if he disobeyed him. Soberly, he wandered back.</p>
<p>With a flourish, Turnbull removed the wet leather underwear off him so that he was standing in front of a large audience with nothing but a spikey leather collar and dog-ears. He felt his master grab hold of his bare shoulder, pushing him down to the floor. “Get back on all fours, like a good dog.” He said to him firmly.</p>
<p>His face hot with embarrassment, he got on all fours, his bare backside in plain view of everyone. Behind him, Turnbull fumbled around some box behind the lectern before taking out what looked to be a cat of nine tails.</p>
<p>A sharp, tingling pain shot through him as the tails made contact with his skin. He gave a cry, to which landed him another slap. Even though everything seemed so hazy and dreamlike, the pain was far too real. His master was ruthless, spanking him until his backside was so red, it would put a communist to shame. One of the tails slapped against a more sensitive area and he trembled, feeling a mix of both pain and pleasure. A moan escaped his lips, much to his horror. The audience could see and hear his arousal, and they continued to laugh and cheer, encouraging Turnbull on. The minion felt so much humiliation, so much anger towards this man and how he was roped into something so cruel. But he could not deny how much being slapped turned him on. The whole thing was a disaster. The feelings that he had spent ages trying to hide had all come out from a couple of careless hours of drinking.</p>
<p>“And that’s what you get for being a dirty, dirty dog.” Turnbull said, before giving him one final slap.</p>
<p>When the ordeal was finally over, Abbott prodded towards the backstage, still on all fours, in all of his naked shame. He could not stay around for further degradation.</p>
<p>But he was not without company.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In a way, he was glad to see him again. Being blindfolded when he first arrived backstage, he could not remember how to return back to his dormitory and needed assistance. Abbott was sure he was going to be furious at him, but the law student appeared calm and impassive. <br/><br/>“That was quite a show you put on, Tones.” Turnbull responded, his smile standing out in the dark room. <br/><br/>“Take me back to my room!” Abbott cried, the amusing effects of the alcohol wearing off. He could only feel pain and regret. To his amazement, Turnbull not only helped him get back to his room, he let him change back to his clothes, although refused to let him out of his sight as they walked back to Abbott’s dormitory. The minion was just about to collapse on the bed, when he noticed that Turnbull was no longer in the doorway, but was now standing near his desk.</p>
<p>“Come here, Tones.” Turnbull beckoned.</p>
<p>Abbott did as he was told, knowing that he could not have a repeat of his earlier performance. Even though Turnbull was no longer holding the cat of nine tails, there was no telling what else he could do.</p>
<p>“Even though you clearly failed at the dog show, you did such a wonderful job cleaning my shoes.” Turnbull remarked, gazing at him from head to toe. Even though he was slightly shorter than him, he still seemed so intimidating. “But I want something more.” He reached for the fly of his pants.</p>
<p>Thinking quickly, Abbott immediately turned away.</p>
<p>“I’m not doing that!” He shouted in defiance. “I know I’ll be kicked out of the Society and my grades will plummet, but I’ve already committed so many sins.”</p>
<p>When he turned back to look at him, Turnbull’s fly remained intact. There was no smirk on his face, but he could see the curiosity gleam in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Why are you so worried? This is just another one of our games.” But then the words sunk in, and there was a slight smile, “So many sins, eh?” He edged closer to him. “Were you thinking of <em>me</em>, Tony?”</p>
<p>Abbott stammered, his head down as he tried to avoid eye contact with his master, in case he knew what he was really thinking, “No, of course not!” He spluttered, pulse racing faster than an animal that was being cornered.</p>
<p>The law student walked closer, gently taking one of his hands. Suddenly, Abbott recognised the sensation from weeks ago, when he was lying in bed after being beaten by those vicious students. Eyes wide, he looked up at him. Staring into those blue eyes, Turnbull knew that he had finally worked it out.</p>
<p>“Are you afraid of doing this, because you don’t want to…” he asked, his fingers to the side of his neck, “Or because you’re afraid to? It’s only us, Tony. If you are so repulsed in being my minion, you can leave any time you want. I can always find a willing replacement.”</p>
<p>At the mention of a replacement, he grabbed hold of his master’s chin, tilting it up before giving him a passionate kiss on the lips. The other man reciprocated, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the sensation. Even though he knew in his mind this was all wrong, this was the only thing he could do to keep that man as his master. He could not bear being replaced by anyone else. Even though he used to think that getting approval from his university lecturers was more important, he needed Turnbull’s approval even more so.</p>
<p>Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, he finally pulled from his embrace. “Please, Malcolm…I don’t want you to find anyone else. I’ll do anything you want.” Before Turnbull could respond, the other man fell to his knees, unzipping his trousers and then taking his engorged member into his mouth. Turnbull moaned as Abbott ran his tongue against him, knowing full well how to make him feel good. He enjoyed the younger student’s willingness to please and utmost devotion. Turnbull took hold of the back of Abbott’s hair, tugging it before pushing him closer to him.</p>
<p>“That’s good.” Turnbull murmured, breathless and struggling to hold back his shudders of pleasure, “Because I don’t <em>want</em> anyone else…” He gasped, knowing that his climax was near. Abbott felt the other man’s nails dig into his shoulders, before he gave out a cry.</p>
<p>He came instantly. Abbott could taste the saltiness of the other man’s pleasure and he obediently swallowed every last drop.</p>
<p>Turnbull quickly removed his blazer, tossing it aside before taking off the rest of his clothes. As the heat in the room continued to rise, Abbott removed his clothes as well. The two collapsed onto the bed, kissing deeply as their sweaty bodies made contact. The law student started to fondle Abbott’s member, causing him to shake. It was remarkable how skilled this troublesome student was with his hands.</p>
<p>“I deliberately chose you as my minion.” Turnbull whispered into Abbott’s ear as he groaned, “On that very first day we met…Seeing you in the administration office with all your paperwork, I knew you would be the lapdog I always wanted.”</p>
<p>Abbott tensed as he felt himself ready to come, the murmurs of appreciation, even when insulting, making him feel more pleasure than ever. He hated how much Turnbull was having an effect on him, but he could not pull away. He did not want to pull away.</p>
<p>Once he finally reached a shuddering climax, the two drifted off to sleep, still holding each other’s hands. Abbott had never felt more content about being sinful in his life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After what had been such a peaceful, comfortable slumber, Abbott awoke to find that his lover had left. He got up from the bed, changing quickly and then made his way out to look for him. It was beginning to rain, a miserable day. Yet Abbott did not let it deter him from his quest. He felt so much warmth within himself from last night that he was glad to walk out in the cold to see him, to be in his arms once more and to let him how he really felt. Even though he was raised as a Catholic and knew that all that had passed between the two of them was wrong, in his heart, he knew what he felt was right.</p><p>He trudged through the wet grass, not bothering to follow the path since now all he ever wanted was to see him. There was no one else out and about, which would mean that finding him would be even easier.</p><p>After no success, he turned to make his way to Brasenose College, heart racing in anticipation. Just up ahead, he spotted a lone, short figure in blazer, holding an umbrella facing the road. His face was obscured by the umbrella, but Abbot could recognise him from anywhere.</p><p>“Malcolm!” He called out, rushing towards him. He was still a fair way away, so the law student did not seem to hear him. A black car drove towards the grounds and then parked directly in front of him, to which the passenger door opened.</p><p>A young woman with fair hair emerged from the car, walking up to Turnbull. She embraced him warmly and he held the umbrella over her before taking hold of her hand tightly, the same way he did for Abbott not so long ago. He leaned towards her and they shared a kiss, rain cascading all around them, threatening to disrupt the couple. But under the shelter of the umbrella, they were completely protected from the elements and oblivious to their surroundings.</p><p>Abbott felt his heart shatter into several pieces as he watched them. Even though to Turnbull he was a minion, he thought that what passed between them was special and real. And instead, the master had played him. Compared to all of the hazing rituals he had gone through, watching them like this was by far the most painful thing of all.</p><p>Rain trickled down his face, tears mixed with rainwater as he stood hopelessly, watching them from afar. Even if he wanted to, he could not come to them, for whatever his master and himself did together had to remain a secret. He was soaked to the bone, anguished from having to watch them, but being unable to take his eyes off them.</p><p>Still holding her hand, Turnbull took what would be his future wife to the car. She climbed into the backseat first, him following her straight after. The doors closed and the car drove away, leaving Abbott with nothing but longing memories and broken dreams.</p><p>But there was something else, growing deep within him. A fire, an anger that he had experienced when he first met him lay dormant. But now, it was growing, stronger than ever. He clenched his fists and ran towards the gym.</p><p>He imagined his lover, now bitter rival’s face on the punching bag as he slammed his fists against it, over and over again. Knuckles bleeding from all of the pressure without boxing gloves, he fell to the floor, panting from exhaustion.</p><p>Two thoughts came to mind: He would no longer be a minion to Malcolm Turnbull anymore. That man would no longer be allowed to boss him around. He will not interfere with his thoughts or dreams anymore. It was time to take control of his life again and follow through with his Catholic values. His conservative heroes, after all would never betrayed him like this. Perhaps he was better off becoming a priest.</p><p>Getting up from the floor, he tried to compose himself. His breathing was less haggard, but his body felt so weak. He stared out of the window, watching the clouds darken. Upon arriving to Britain, he knew that his life was going to change forever, but he did not think it would be like this. Oxford was the place where he would get an education that would inspire him to get into politics, but it was the place where he had finally developed a grudge that would last a lifetime.</p><p>An image of the happy couple embracing under the umbrella flashed back in his mind and he remembered the flattering, but cruel words of the man he once loved.</p><p>
  <em>I knew you would be the lapdog I always wanted…</em>
</p><p>“Burn in hell, Malcolm.” Abbott cursed under his breath.<br/><br/></p><p>A rumble of thunder could be heard from afar.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Footnotes for explanations:<br/>“…retrieved what looked to be a dried, raw onion.”: This was in direct reference to Tony Abbott biting into a raw onion when visiting a Tasmanian farm. It is implied that Abbott bit into an onion to display masculine strength. Of course, this is an exaggeration on the author’s part. Check out the link below for the real reason why he had done so.<br/>https://www.news.com.au/finance/work/leaders/it-was-beautiful-tony-abbott-finally-explains-the-moment-he-bit-into-a-raw-onion/news-story/78f086ab4bf3f01d30670a9cb50d7401</p>
<p>“That witch has objected to letting the boat people settle here.”: It was unclear as to what Malcolm Turnbull thought of the Thatcher government’s general policies, although he was strongly against the banning of a former MI5 officer’s memoirs for consumption by the public. However, Spycatcher occurred after Turnbull had completed his degree at Oxford, so I decided to make it somewhat more accurate to the timeline by choosing a different, albeit controversial issue.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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